Leathers
by mizzshy
Summary: In the Emerald City, the streets are dangerous, and Galinda finds herself in need of rescue. Biker AU. [Day 5 of Pride Month fic challenge.]


**Fifth fic for a Pride Month prompt challenge from tumblr. Prompt: AU free for all.**

 **Soooo I might have overwritten this one compared to the other fics I've been doing for this challenge. I decided to make Wicked into a biker gang AU for reasons. This story is a kind of prologue to a longer fic that I might or might not write - I have the idea but whether I have the time or not remains to be seen! Let me know if any of you guys would actually want to read a continuation of this or if it would be entirely self-indulgent of me to continue.**

* * *

Galinda knows full well that this is not the sort of night on which she should be out of the house. She can practically smell the danger in the air: it reeks of motor oil and sweat, like a drumbeat she can't silence that makes her pulse quicken and skip in anticipation. It's not unheard of exactly, for her to be out that is, but the only other people on the streets at this time are and it's inadvisable. People in tiny shorts and tiny tube tops peddling one thing, people with empty cheeks and full pockets peddling another, people on bikes wielding god knows what weapons alongside their own version of the law, of justice.

She can hear the steady hum of the City, can hear more than she can see. The smog is so thick tonight, Galinda can't even see the sky, only the green lights of the Emerald City thrown upwards and pushed back down by the smog. As far as anyone knows, this is how the City has always been: swollen with exhaust fumes and belching noxious gases into the air. Galinda knows the Emerald City used to have another name, but no one remembers it any more. The City has lived in its own private pocket of pollution for so long, and the light pollution mixes with it so the place glows. It's said the place can be seen from the sky as a huge green bubble.

Ordinarily, Galinda would be home by now. She'd be in bed reading or pottering about the kitchen making brownies or something to take into the studio for everyone in the morning, and usually she'd have on a face mask or hair mask or some other part of her beauty regimen while she did so. Tonight, however, she finds herself scurrying between the light of the street lamps, dodging shadows, picking her way home. No one has ever pretended like the light offers any kind of safety, not really, but it helps her feel better.

A loud bang sounds from a few streets over and Galinda flinches – she hasn't been here long enough yet to be used to the sounds, even if she can surmise fairly readily that it's only a car backfiring. She breathes in, the air cloying in her throat even through the scarf tied over the lower half of her face, and walks a little faster. Her heels click on the concrete beneath her and she does her best to focus on the rhythm of it, tries to tune out the thoughts in the back of her head that cower from every sound, every shadow. Turning down a relatively wide alleyway – a shortcut that will get her to one of the main streets in the shopping district – Galinda makes it about halfway down before she sees several figures enter at the other end. She stops short, gait faltering, and pretends to check her watch before turning around... Only to see people entering where she just came from. Stuck in the middle, she feels her stomach twist fearfully, even before she sees the grin on the face of one of the approaching men.

"Evening darling," he calls to her. She gives him a curt nod in response. "Where are you off to?"

Galinda doesn't answer. The group are closing in on all sides and her heartbeat is hammering behind her eyes. She needs to get away but there's no space, no opportunity, and their faces are predatory.

"I asked you a question," says the man, and oh he's so horribly close now, and she can smell the alcohol on his breath. "You too good to talk to me?"

She shakes her head. "I'm in a hurry," she says, her tone desperate and thin through the mask. "My husband is waiting for me."

"I don't see a ring," says another guy, standing by her left elbow, and it's only then Galinda realises how trapped she's become. The group stands around her, all of them tall, far taller than herself. She swallows down bile and tries not to let her threatening tears come out.

"Look, I don't have a lot of money on me right now," she says, eyes on the ground. "But I'll give you what's in my purse and I won't make a fuss."

The man in front of her laughs and Galinda feels it in her lungs.

"Money won't cut it tonight sweetheart."

Everything happens in a blur of an instant. Galinda feels a surge of bodies around her, there's a shriek in her throat (not that it'll do anything) and she kicks herself for thinking the shortcut would be safe. But then almost immediately the bodies recede again, there's a blinding light advancing on them down the alleyway and a roaring sound – a motorbike. Galinda, now free and surrounded more loosely by the group, blinks at the light and hears a commanding female voice calling to her.

"Get on the bike!"

Normally, Galinda would be more sensible. Normally, she wouldn't dream of following such an order from someone she doesn't know. But then again, normally she isn't surrounded by people she knows definitely intend to hurt her, with the possibility of not getting hurt sitting astride a motorbike in front of her. She dashes into the light, relieved that she knows how to run in heels, and practically throws herself onto the back of the bike. Her arms go automatically around the waist of the woman in front of her and the kick of her engine jolts a yelp from her. They fly off down the alleyway, the men scattering in their wake, and speed away down empty streets. Galinda feels the thunderous approach of two more bikes behind her and clings tighter to her rescuer.

 _Why are they following us?_

As though reading her thoughts, the woman driving the bike calls over her shoulder, "Relax, they're mine. I asked them to meet with us after I'd got you."

Galinda breathes out, tries to let go of her fear. She sits up a little, brings one hand up to smooth her hair off her face (because she might as well still try to look nice, even given present circumstances) but suddenly stops short. In front of her, under a whip of smooth black hair, she sees a winged monkey emblazoned on the leather jacket the woman wears.

 _Oh no._

The abating fear in Galinda's stomach comes to life again at the sight. She can't have seriously just let this happen.

"Where do you live?" the woman – her name is Elphaba according to the back of the jacket – asks, her voice wavering backwards through the air to Galinda. When Galinda gives the stammered response, Elphaba nods and they turn a corner, heading north.

* * *

Elphaba strides into the bar, signalling to Gene to fix her usual as she goes. The place is almost empty – it would be at this time of the morning – and the news is playing on the television in the corner. The light pushing in through the blinds is grey (it's always grey at this hour) and the few punters still around are dozing, hands around their glasses only through habit.

"Busy night?" asks Gene, putting Elphaba's drink down on the bar.

Elphaba nods, picking up the glass and leaning one hip against the bar. "Mostly the usual. Had to stop a bunch of kids from setting a homeless guy on fire – who the hell does something like that?" She takes a sip, a grateful sigh leaving her at the sharp taste on her tongue. "He was asleep in the doorway of the old theatre."

Gene shakes his head. "I guess we shouldn't be surprised any more."

Elphaba grimaces. "I'd love to be able to be surprised about any of this shit. You hear anything more about Wizard?"

Gene shakes his head again. "Same as always."

"Great..." Elphaba frowns into her glass. She's contemplating heading upstairs to bed when she hears a familiar voice coming from the television. Her eyes move to it and she sees a blonde woman on the screen. She stands in front of a map, moving her arms and gesturing to it to show the upcoming Oz weather. The picture is grainy – the set is old as hell and held together through willpower alone – but the woman's eyes are recognisable.

"You okay El?" asks Gene.

Elphaba nods and hides the beginnings of a smirk in another sip of her drink.


End file.
